


The Art of Snuggling

by Aenaria



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, F/F, F/M, OT3, cuddle fic, literally - this fic is all about the snuggles, sometimes we all have those days where we just want to stay in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: Some days, it just isn’t worth getting out of bed, when being human is just too hard to handle. And on days like that, sometimes the best thing for Darcy Lewis is a good, old fashioned, snuggle.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, Darcy Lewis/Wanda Maximoff, Darcy Lewis/Wanda Maximoff/Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	The Art of Snuggling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merideath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/gifts).



> Meri and I have been tossing around snuggling headcanons for ages, and when we hit on an OT3 idea I couldn’t resist putting it down on paper. This little ficlet also helped me deal with some of my feelings about my busted up and broken brain too, which Meri has also helped me through on those days when everything is just so much. So, this story is for Meri, who I am very thankful to have had in my life for all these years, and this is a small token of my appreciation for her.

Some days, it just isn’t worth getting out of bed. Darcy has accepted this as a fact of her life at this point: that there will be days when being human is just too hard to handle and the best thing she can do is stay in bed. To lounge there like some fairy tale heroine, propped up on lush velvet pillows and lovely, tactile blankets that cocoon her body. 

Those are far too fancy words for depression though. From her own first hand experience, Darcy knows that her depression doesn’t result in her looking like a sleeping beauty, but rather a zombie who’s lost a lot of days to a restless, uneasy sleep and a brain that vacillates between feeling too much of the pain in the world sometimes and blindingly numb to everything on others. And when she finally manages to get out of the stupor, she looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, with a rat’s nest worth of curls on top of her head and in desperate need of a shower. Definitely not fairy-tale like.

She’s developed better coping mechanisms since college at least, which had involved a lot of cheap wine and other risky activities in an attempt to feel something, anything. Even the revelation of Thor and those events were only able to keep the depression at bay for a little while. When she crashed back down to earth afterwards, the nightmares and the “it’s totally not PTSD, I just keep seeing the giant metal Asgardian creature out of the corner of my eyes,” brought all of the feelings of uselessness rushing back that had to be hid away from Jane lest she lose her internship. Frankly, Darcy’s not sure how she managed to graduate, really.

Medication and the health insurance to pay for it makes a world of difference. And Darcy finally has people who she knows care about her just the way she is, damaged and dinged up and beautifully flawed, who love her and accept her love in return, even if the words don’t always come easily. 

But, even with the medication there are still days when Darcy just can’t get out of bed, and so she pulls her cozy sweater tighter around her and curls into the blankets, eyes heavy and body trying to become as small as it can be. A few minutes later the door to the bedroom opens, soft footsteps heading her way. It’s the smallness of the tread that tells her it’s Wanda rather than Steve, gliding through the world at her own pace. Wanda sits down on the edge of the big bed, brushing some curls away from Darcy’s eyes. “Mmm,” Darcy hums, leaning into Wanda’s light touch. 

There’s a clinking noise somewhere that Darcy can’t quite make out, so she pries her eyes open to spot a couple of fresh mugs on the bedside table amidst the rest of the clutter that’s built up there. “Did you take your pills yet this morning?” Wanda asks. More than once Wanda’s told both her and Steve that she’s not their therapist, she’s their girlfriend, and they try their absolute hardest to honor this...but it’s no secret that Wanda tries to help them where she can, with gentle reminders and quiet little prods that push things in the right direction. 

“Not yet,” Darcy sighs. She pushes herself upright, the blankets falling around her, dragging her sweater down a bit until one pale shoulder is sticking out of the cardigan (it’s oversized anyway...and come to think of it she probably borrowed it from Steve’s section of the closet). “I need to.”

“Here.” Wanda leans over to the bedside table and pulls an orange pill bottle out of the mess there. “I think these are them.” She hands them over and Darcy hefts them in her hand, tossing them in the air and hearing the medication rattle around inside.

“I love and hate these things, you know?” Darcy says, popping the cap. “I hate that I’m so fucking dependent on them to keep me balanced, but I love that they actually mean I can function right.” She measures out the dose into her hand and pops them into her mouth, washing them down with a swig of coffee.

Wanda shrugs, moving around to lean against the headboard next to Darcy. Their bed is large enough to fit all three of them comfortably; it may have initially been a custom job to fit Steve’s large frame, but none of them can deny that it’s perfectly shaped for the three of them to sleep at nights. “The medicine’s a lot less self destructive than the other options, at least.”

“Depends on how you use them,” Darcy points out. She snuggles her coffee cup close and leans against Wanda’s side, letting the other woman’s warmth seep into her chilled bones. “Take enough of those pills and destruction is guaranteed.”

The statement is enough to make Wanda groan loudly with frustration. “I swear, between you with the bloody dark jokes and Steve with the bloody fists, you’re both going to make me go entirely grey-haired before I’m thirty.”

And while the rational part of Darcy knows that the comment’s only in jest, it’s enough to make Darcy shrink down inside herself, bury her feelings and the sting down inside of her and curl up inside that hard shell once more. “Sorry,” she mumbles in the direction of her coffee cup.

“Hey.” She feels Wanda’s hand on her face, turning her so they can lock eyes. Wanda glides a knuckle over Darcy’s cheekbone and gives her a soft smile. “No matter what,” she says, “you are absolutely enough as you are, and I love you just like that.”

Darcy can feel the tears start to sting at her eyes, one breaking loose and tracking its way down her skin to gather in the corner of her mouth. “I love you too,” she says, using her free hand to pull Wanda into a slightly desperate kiss that hopefully says everything that words can’t. Darcy pours all of her feelings into it, knowing that Wanda, with all of her psychic skills and abilities, will feel them that way too.

Wanda’s lips trail away from Darcy’s slowly, stretching up to plant another kiss on her forehead. “It’s going to be a bed day, isn’t it?”

“I think so.” Darcy glances over Wanda’s shoulder and out the window, seeing the sky a dull grey color, clouds heavy and leaden, like it may possibly snow but really, it just can’t muster up the energy for it. “Weather’s right for bed and cuddling.”

“Here.” Wanda grabs the remote from the other bedside table and drops it in Darcy’s lap. “You find something to watch, and I’ll get the blankets.”

It doesn’t take long for the two women to get everything situated just so, pillows in all shapes and sizes and colors piled high against the headboard, and some knit blankets that are probably about as old as Darcy is, but they’re warm and cozy, and that’s what matters. “What are you doing?” Darcy asks a few minutes later, once they’re finally curled up together under the blankets, the TV on the other side of the room telling stories of baked goods in soft voices that help to put her brain at ease.

“Texting Steve,” Wanda says, nose buried in her phone. “He’s out running right now, but I’m going to see if I can tempt him to bring some goodies home for us.”

“Goodies are fun, but really, I am a-ok with just cuddles.”

“Well, there’s nothing to stop us from having both of them.”

Wanda’s arm drops around her shoulders, pulling her close, the skin to skin contact doing wonders to soothe Darcy’s soul. Beneath the blankets, she curves her leg atop Wanda’s, clinging on like a truly desperate octopus, and it helps to settle her even further. They’re still like that when Steve arrives later, slightly sweaty from his run, with a tray of drinks in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

“Hey you,” Darcy says, still not moving her head from where it’s pillowed on Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda’s fingers keep idly stroking at her hair anyway, and it’s enough to make her positively melt. “Good run?”

“Good enough. Nothing special.” Before Darcy can ask what’s in the bag the bed dips and Steve crawls over the two of them, bracing himself up so that they’re not crushed under the entirety of his body. He kisses Darcy first, slow and languorous with just a hint of tongue, tasting enough like hot chocolate that Darcy licks her lips when he pulls away. Steve kisses Wanda next, gracing her with the same sweet, slow kiss, and it’s a sight that Darcy will never be tired of. 

“You need a shower,” Wanda says when Steve moves back. “You smell like jogging.”

“She has a point.” Darcy plucks at the T-shirt stretched over Steve’s chest, finding one of the sweaty spots there. “Go shower, then come cuddle with us.”

“If my sheets are getting sweaty, it won’t be because of this,” Wanda points out with a giggle.

Steve rolls his eyes, and sighs. His head drops forward and Darcy pats the back of his neck to try and comfort him a bit...and then wipes the sweat that collected on her hand off on his shoulder. “All right, I’m going.” He hauls himself off the bed and heads to the bathroom, the sound of delighted giggles trailing behind him.

One military-quick shower later Steve comes back, wearing loose shorts and a tank top, and crawls into the bed behind Darcy. His body brackets hers neatly, and his arm stretches over her head so that he can play with the loose strands of Wanda’s hair that spread across the piles of pillows. Darcy wriggles back into him, soaking in the skin to skin contact on her back, while tugging Wanda that much closer to her. There’s an art to the group snuggle, after all, which ends up resulting in the finest puppy pile that they could achieve, skin to skin to skin, making it hard to tell where one body ends and the next one begins. 

“So what are they making today?” Steve murmurs into Darcy’s shoulder, just as his hand steals up to slide under her shirt, settling large and warm against her soft stomach and grounding her.

Wanda laughs, a little snorting chuckle that is absolutely adorable, and Darcy just shakes her head. “Just wait and see,” Darcy says. “It’s going to make your inner New Yorker curl up and die.”

Even on those darker days, when her brain chemistry is being especially stupid, Darcy knows there’s still something there that makes it all worth it. It could be something small, so minor that no one else would be amused by it, but it’s hers. These two beloved people, who accept and love her for everything that she is, flaws and all, are hers too, and she loves them back. And never let it be said that Darcy doesn’t fight for those she loves.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve been watching this season of GBBO you’ll know exactly which challenge it is that made my inner New Yorker curl up and...actually, it made me rage and throw a sock at my TV screen. Sign of a true Brooklynite right there.
> 
> Ask me how I really feel about this season of GBBO. Go on. I dare you.


End file.
